GRIND

by MEGAN MATTHEWS

  “You’ll call me when you girls finish for the day, right?” Ryland turns on the hazard lights, the little dings with each blink filling in our silence.

  I blow out a breath against the window, fogging up a small area, which quickly disappears. “Yeah.”

  “You’re going to be late.”

  Aspen texted me last night with news she had a surprise for us this morning. I don’t like surprises. At least surprises I don’t know about in advance. “We could go back to your place and play DR.” I try to tempt him to drive away.

  “Is everything okay?” he asks, not taking me up on the offer.

  “Yeah.” More condensation builds on the window only to dissipate as fast.

  Ryland leans over placing a hand on the back of my neck, his fingers caught in a few strands of hair. “You love your girl time on Sundays. Since Aspen took over Cosmo’s we men have been relegated to Finn’s place.”

  “Well she wasn’t allowed to have all of us over at one time per her old rules, so really that’s your fault.” I laugh and put my hand on the door handle, the closest I’ve come to leaving. “And don’t let Finn fool you. The guys hang out at Cosmo's on Sunday mornings every once and a while. He just doesn’t want to get out of his pajamas this early most weekends.” I totally understand.

  “That sounds like Finn.” He pulls me closer. “Go enjoy the nice couches and gossip, but no pillow fights or whatever else you girls might do together. You'll give the nerds heart attacks.”

  “Okay.” I shake my head a few times at him. “I’ll make sure to let Aspen know our clothes have to stay on this week.”

  I close the distance between us expecting a quick peck on the lips, but Ryland pulls me toward him. My heart picks up and I fist the fabric of his white shirt stopping any retreat. He bites my lower lip as he pulls away, his lips tipped up smiling down at me before he lets go.

  It’s the sendoff I needed. “Saucy, Tiger.” I release his shirt and pat it down, and then I open the door and step out to the sidewalk before I change my mind.

  I refuse to stand on the street and watch him drive away, so once his hazard lights shut off, I turn and walk into Cosmo’s.

  The comic shop we’ve spent Sundays at since the weather turned too cold for Aspen is bright and airy for the small space it encompasses. The smell of coffee permeates the area. Exposed brick lines both walls, a large window and front door taking up the space at the entrance. To the left running most of the way along, there’s a checkout and section for customers to order coffee and other hot drinks. The right wall’s filled with metal shelving to display the comic book dolls and other boxed items. The middle of the store toward the front is stacked full of tall white box structures holding hundreds, maybe thousands, of various comics separated out by maker and then series.

  Most of these areas are easy to overlook, but the back of the room draws my attention. Along the back wall, a few feet from a door marked employees only, three thick orange-ish colored couches form a half circle with a thick coffee table placed in the middle.

  Tucked away from the two customers pawing through the stacks of comics wait Aspen, Amanda, and Simone as I suspected. Each claimed a couch as their own and I throw myself down on the opposite end of Aspen’s. Her thick winter coat fills the empty space between us and I remove my purple San Francisco fleece and lay it on top.

  “The next time you two try to make a porno on the street, let me know. I bet I’d make millions if I posted it online.” She reaches to the coffee table and grabs a green mug, passing it to my waiting hand.

  I breathe across the top to help cool the coffee with the one sugar she knows I need. “You saw, huh?”

  “The whole street saw.” Simone’s eyes widen and she pulls on her blue sweater pretending to cool down. “It was hot.”

  Trey’s right. We’ve definitely corrupted his sweet and innocent woman. I’m kind of proud how quickly it happened.

  “So you two are like… a thing now… officially? A PDA kind of couple?” Aspen watches my face for any hint of a lie, but it’s wasted effort. I’m not going to even try.

  I pull out my cell phone. “Yes.”

  “Yes? That’s all you have for us?” Amanda asks.

  “Don’t worry. She’ll slip sooner or later and then we’ll get our answers.” Aspen answers for me pulling up one of the free comic books Jason, the store owner, leaves on the coffee table. She feigns interest in whoever the big green guy is fighting this edition.

  She drops the comic within a minute and the conversation flows to important topics, such as why the food delivery is late and her weekly Finn update. He’s still a nerd and they’re grossly in love.

  When nothing exciting comes up, even when Amanda shares her latest dating story, I reach for my phone out of habit and end up texting Ryland.

  Me: You need tinted windows.

  His response is almost immediate.

  Ryland: I’ll get right on that, Kitten.

  I start to text back my standard complaint to not call me Kitten, the reply as much a part of our standard conversation as the nickname, but Aspen perks up and I draw my attention to where she stares out the large glass front window.

  “Oh, good the food’s here.” Aspen tracks a guy as he walks past the front and opens the door.

  My mouth started salivating before I walked in this morning and I’ve been impatiently waiting for someone to feed me since I sat down. Monday through Saturday I’m iffy on the whole breakfast meal, but Sundays… Sundays are the day where we call it brunch and use it as an excuse to stuff our faces with sugary goodness. Most weekends the promise of Tahiti French toast is the one reason I get out of bed.

  Except there’s a problem. The sandy blond haired man delivering our food is not wearing the normal Zazie’s uniform and logo. Nor does the bag he carries. When he starts to pull out black Styrofoam containers rather than the normal white, my brain clicks on and I face the facts. This is not Zazie’s.

  “Aspen, what is this?” I ask, remaining calm for a few more seconds. She better tell me there’s been a mix up.

  Her hands go up, fingers spread in demented over excited jazz hands. “The big news. Breakfast Burritos! Finn and I had them last week and I thought I’d die they were so delicious.”

  “From Los Tres? I’ve heard they’re amazing, but haven’t made my way to that side of town.” Amanda rolls up the sleeves of her pink long sleeve t-shirt with a large lion on the front.

  I reluctantly take my burrito wrapped in aluminum foil from Aspen when she hands it to me. “Breakfast burritos? But this is brunch.” I’m sure the burrito is delicious, but I'm equally as positive it isn’t smothered in chocolate syrup and caramel. It doesn’t smell like cinnamon and chocolate.

  “Try it, Marissa. I ordered you a turkey with salsa and sour cream. You’ll love it.” Aspen finishes passing out the food and pulls her curly brown hair back into a ponytail to keep her wayward strands out of the way.

  I don’t want to try it. I’m going to hate it. Am I overreacting? Maybe. Nothing is the same as it was a year ago. Back then I had everything figured out. It’s all changing. Tears begin to prick at my eyes. “We’re supposed to eat French toast,” I say to no one in particular.

  “We can go back to the toast next week. This is a fun change,” Aspen says.

  Simone moans over her bite. “This is amazing. Maybe we should switch to this for a while.”

  Switch? A fun change? This isn’t fun at all. What’s next? We’ll support people wearing dark blue and black together as a fashion choice? My heart thumps wildly trying to escape my rib cage, and the beat is off. Oh my God, what if I’m having a heart attack? What do those commercials say you’re supposed to do? Stop, drop, and roll?

  “Marissa, are you okay?” Aspen leans over and places a hand on my shoulder.

  Can’t she see I’m dying? “Everything has changed. You can’t order us new food without telling any of us, Aspen. This is brunch and we’re supposed to eat French toast with bana
nas and chocolate syrup and cinnamon. There is no chocolate syrup on my burrito.”

  She tilts her head to the side, sharing a look with Amanda.

  “What’s next? Today burritos, tomorrow breakfast pizza? Why don’t we make it lunch since nothing is sacred any longer? Where will it end?" I take a deep breath trying to calm myself down, but it doesn’t work.

  “This isn’t about the French toast, is it?” Aspen asks leaning closer and patting my back like it will make this abomination of brunch food become what we're supposed eat on Sunday mornings.

  I toss the still wrapped burrito on the table no longer interested in eating. “What if he’s like Cody?”

  “Ryland?” Amanda asks, confusion written across her face. Where’s she been the last five minutes?

  I sigh and lean back on the couch forcing Aspen to move her hand. “I thought Cody was the one. I moved to San Francisco for him. Ryland is hot and rich and famous. Girls are probably all over him.” Just because I haven’t seen it yet doesn’t mean I’m stupid enough to believe it doesn’t happen.

  Aspen opens her mouth, but I’m still purging feelings. “He wants me to move to Italy!”

  “Italy?” Simone asks.

  “We’re going to buy leather.” I wave a hand in front of me to get back on topic. “It might not be Italy. It could be anywhere. He’s going to join a new team and I’ll move for a man again, but this time it will be a new country. A country, Aspen. Do you know how far away those are?”

  “You’re my best friend, Marissa. You know that, right?” She looks at me with sincerity and I nod. “Then don’t be an idiot because I can’t be best friends with an idiot.”

  “But…” I stammer, unable to find more words.

  “I haven’t spent much time with Ryland, but you’re the happiest I’ve seen you in months. Even before you and Cody broke up. I like it. Give yourself permission and enjoy it. Grab on to whatever makes you this blissful with both hands and don’t let go.” Aspen points to Simone as if she’s tagging her in.

  “I agree, Marissa. Sometimes life sucks. Anything can happen, but you’ll never know if you don’t go. Enjoy the ride while you're on it, and if later it’s time for you to get off, move on to the next adventure.”

  I spare a glance at Amanda to see if she’ll give me more sane words of wisdom or tell me to run for the hills. She raises a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. “Enjoy the burritos in life.”

  At Amanda’s insistence, I open the burrito and finally take a bite. It’s good. Damn it. In one final push to win someone over to my side I tell them about Ryland’s temper tantrum with Cody yesterday and sit back ready for them to agree with me about his overbearing ass behavior.

  “That’s hot, Marissa.” Simone’s eyes twinkle as she stares a little dreamily at the tiled ceiling.

  “Yeah in an overbearing jerky way.” I crumble up the aluminum foil my burrito came wrapped in and throw the trash in the bag on the floor.

  Aspen shrugs. “Come on now. Mrs. Dean Winchester doesn’t find an arrogant guy hot? What’s happened to you?”

  We’ve had an ongoing argument over which brother’s the hottest on Supernatural since college. Pen’s stuck herself firmly in the Sam corner with Amanda. Simone and I continue the good fight for the cuter, bossier brother, Dean. To date we’re at a standstill.

  “Weren’t you always saying Cody should take charge more rather than trying to impress everyone? A man who knows what he wants is kind of hot, and Ryland’s made it known what he wants,” she continues. “You.”

  I laugh at her little hair flick at the end of her statement. It loses all effect when you do it to a high ponytail. “Yes, I picked up on that part.”

  Since I avoided giving an update earlier, I bring everyone up to speed on Ryland’s volunteering schedule and we spend time planning out more of the fundraiser I’ve officially taken over for Clare and the youth center without any more talk of Italy.

  “When do we get to meet Clare? If she’s busy Sundays, maybe we’ll come with you and Ryland during the week. It’d be nice to do a big planning session if we’re going to pull off this fundraiser by the first week of April,” Aspen says.

  I ponder her observation for a minute. She’s right, but every time I’ve mentioned Clare doing anything besides sitting next to one another as Ryland coaches, she’s been hesitant. No, that’s not right. She’s been downright skittish, like a baby bunny. Except I don’t get the impression Clare’s meek or mild… or fluffy for that matter.

  “Ryland plans to pick me up from work on Thursday. Then we’ll head over there. Meet us at six and we’ll do an impromptu meeting?" Now I just cross my fingers Clare’s okay with four girls invading her space. “But keep the comments PG13. They’re kids and all, you know?”

  Simone points at me. “Um, you mean you’ll need to keep the comments to a minimum.”

  “Who me? Never.” I pretend to be clueless as we finish up our brunch and the other girls make plans to hang out for the afternoon. I plan to pull Ryland away from his video game time and talk him into more of this cuddling. Regardless of what he says, he enjoyed it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  With Ryland’s condo door wide open, I tromp back and forth between our places in different dresses. The charity event is a big night for the youth center and my planning skills. I need to look the part of a fancy-put-together woman. Plus, I love to dress up. There might be three weeks until our Casino night, but if I wear a dress from Simone, I’ll need it hemmed. It’s also a great opportunity for Ryland to practice his boyfriend skills by pretending to care what I wear with fake oohs and ahhs. So far he's done well.

  The light blue dress I have on drags on the floor behind me, but I kind of enjoy the train feel of it. As long as no one steps on it and I fall on my ass. On second thought, maybe the train’s a bad idea.

  Ryland sits stretched out on his couch watching ESPN on the television, but he turns his head when I step into the living room. His hand goes up and he circles his index finger silently asking me to spin.

  “The purple one looked better with your eyes,” he says and then turns back to the highlight reel.

  “Purple looks good with brown?”

  “Yeah,” he answers without looking at me, but when I don’t move, his head turns. “Don’t question my opinions if you’re going to ask for them.”

  I hate it when he’s a reasonable person and makes sense. Not that I’d tell him that. I’d rather change the subject. “Do you have a tie to match the purple one?”

  The purple dress with a swoopy top is from my own closet so it fits, which will save me time and money on alterations. I’ve worn it before to a company holiday dinner with a certain ex who shall remain nameless.

  “Kitten, just because I don’t wear ties doesn’t mean I don’t own a few.” He stops to think for a moment, his hand going to his jaw. “Actually most of them are in England, but I have some in the bedroom and if you like the purple dress I’ll pick one up to match.”

  “I’ll go look. Where do you keep your stash?” I lean over the couch and give him a quick kiss on his puckered lips.

  Ryland tries to sneak a hand up the bottom of my dress but gets caught in the extra material at the bottom. “This one is a definite no, it’s too long. The most important feature you consider for any dress should be how fast I can get it off you."

  I lean back and give him my best unamused look even though his words excite me. “Uh-huh. And the ties are?”

  “Top drawer of the dresser. Maybe in the closet, but check the dresser first.”

  I’ve never seen Ryland in a tie besides pictures, but his comment and general lack of knowledge about his wardrobe make me question how much time he’s spent here since buying his San Francisco condo.

  I pull open the top drawer of the large wooden dresser on the far corner of the master suite and my mouth falls open in shock. The ties are where he said they’d be. That’s not what’s interesting.

  There… right there, smack
dab in the top drawer of Ryland’s dresser pushed off to the right side and snuggled between two rolled up ties lays a shiny metal pair of handcuffs. I reach in and pull them out allowing one cuff to dangle from my index finger. They're heavy, better quality than those cheap plastic ones people use for Halloween.

  What’s a girl supposed to do when she finds a pair of handcuffs in her boyfriend’s bedroom? Who knew Ryland had a kinky side? I kind of… like it. I stare at the heavy metal piece trying to think of how we could work this into our daily activities, but a little twist begins in my stomach. Another part of my brain — the jealous side — reminds me Ryland’s probably used these with another girl. Hundreds of other girls.

  “Did you find a useable tie?” Ryland stops on the edge of the bedroom leaning against the doorway with his hands crossed over his chest.

  “No.” I turn toward him, the handcuffs swaying from my finger. “But I found something more interesting.”

  His mouth falls open and his eyes widen until both hands come out in front of him and he takes a step closer. “It’s not what it looks like.”

  “So you’re not a kinky bastard who wants to tie me up and spank me?” I’m a bit disappointed.

  He laughs and takes another step into the room, probably feeling safer since I haven’t thrown the cuffs at him yet. “Kitten, give me the word and I’ll spank you." His eyes burn with desire. “But the handcuffs aren’t what they seem. When I joined the soccer team at Stanford, players went through a lot of hazing.”

  “Hazing with handcuffs?” I ask unable to come up with a single scenario where those two go together.

  He rubs a hand on his forehead. “You’re really going to make me tell you the whole story aren’t you?”